I stood, like a pole in the mud, a pole silver and silent, and I remembered from the pictures of him that hung sinisterly on the bright white-washed wall that bordered the room of the living. The room was dead, my breath its only whisper as I spoke…

…I remember the horrid ways his hands would caress her cheek, her shoulders, her neck…I remembered the way his pointed nose would seek out and sniff her young hair…I remembered the look of discomfort on her face, how it screamed at me for help, but I didn’t listen, I was too cautious…
…I remembered his bedroom, the rusty red covers of the bed she laid upon, her knees propped up in a sharp angle, the way her zombie eyes stared in near tears as she gazed into the flashing screen in front of her…I caught his eye, I remember, and when I saw what he wanted to do to her innocence, my heart burst, shattered, inside I bubbled over in anger, and I ran to grab the silver thin kitchen knife…The gleaming of it was all I needed, for he coward away in terror, and begged me to relax, that he did nothing wrong…And so I stepped away, into a dark corner and silently sobbed; my world was altered, I didn’t know what to do…Soon after I took the young girl’s pinky, and swore on her behalf, to never speak of the incident, but I knew in my heart this would not be kept in the dark for long, I would never allow it…
…I stopped speaking abruptly, and gazed at my feet, desperately trying to avoid my mother’s pale face of despair…the young girl had sat and sobbed all the while of the story…I avoided her young frightened eyes as well…
…The room was spinning, my head was aching, no embracing comfort, I could feel the anger, taste the hatred, I could smell the sweat of fear, the confusion an aroma…They sat still as stone, my mother and the young one, yet the winds of emotion quietly breezed through storming upon their shaking bodies, their eyes red as the burning sun- puffy like the gray clouds that roared over our heads, the shock that pierced their soft faces; I dared not to look, just kept staring on at my feet…the spears of the evil man’s doing stabbed their small hearts, their innocent minds, their fragile lives, rusted slowly inch by inch as time traveled deeper, a pain like a scar that would never ever fade; incense…incense…incense…
…I didn’t know what to do; what could I do? Mother was shedding rivers I never meant for her to shed. I am not holy enough to provide hope; I am only Eve, with a piece of fruit stuffed between my cheeks; its sour sweetness running along my already bloody mouth. It seemed that all our tongues were split; a bell sang. In a house, a mere block away, the smirk of the man was heard.